I’m an orphan mother
Tears roll down my cheeks
when I hear the name, Bonfire:
my first-born, given away to an orphanage.
dark-skinned with kohl-rimmed eyes
my handsome little baby
has grown up and now wields a pistol
against his abandonment
I remember when, with clammy hands
His tiny feet would run
and play catch-and-throw
in iambic as his tongue rolled off
Mama’s little Picasso
painted couches with scribbles
blue ovals with colour at the fringe
my baby’s fruit drawings
looked so chic
I still have them on the fridge
To this day
I remember when
when my parents asked me
to give him up for adoption.
Me, a girl who drew vaginas inside hearts
in a biology class, as a joke, sniggering
and shared pasta with her ex-boyfriend
whom my parents both despised
all during my pregnancy
my mother said to me
I didn’t deserve to knit
Socks for my baby
Because I wasn’t mature enough
So finally, I gave up the will
To be a mother
And just pushed my baby out
They let me keep him for a while
Enough, to let me get attached
Then they took him off to be judged
By the world, all on his own
my baby got accepted
at seven orphanages
a day of both sadness and pride for me
They called him a fine little piece.
my first poem,
my only baby!
©2020 Fizza Abbas All rights reserved.
Fizza Abbas is a Freelance Content Writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She is fond of poetry and music. Her works have been published on quite a few platforms including Poetry Village and Poetry Pacific.